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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777835">The Sweetest Christmas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/br0adwaybaby/pseuds/br0adwaybaby'>br0adwaybaby</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Comedy RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Prince vibes, Christmas Special, Ed is a Prince and James is a pastry chef, Fluff, M/M, Royalty AU, Slow Burn, There's a lot of swearing so sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:13:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27777835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/br0adwaybaby/pseuds/br0adwaybaby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When young pastry chef James needs to find a new job, he does think moving to the Winter-obsessed Kingdom of Cordania is risky. But when he meets Prince Edward - a headstrong royal with a thirst for adventure - he may just find that it was all worth it. </p><p>Christmas magic abound, this fic is basically the gay Hallmark movie of my dreams. Pls enjoy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Acaster/Ed Gamble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Ok, so, basically... a while back, I was listening to the Ed Gamble RHLSTP episode, where he said he has self-taped for Netflix Christmas films. This got me thinking immediately about Christmas Prince Ed and Serious Career Woman James Acaster. For this version, I have made James a pastry chef because of his love of desserts and NOT because of how well he can cook - see Bake Off. I just hope this can put us in the Christmas mood because I am READY!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James’ knife chopped furiously at the assembled pile of dark chocolate before it. Smaller and smaller, the chunks disappeared until all that was left was a fine, rich dust. Et voila. He manoeuvred the dust into a bowl with the knife, switching quickly to a whisk and beginning work on the mixture. The whipping had to be swift; until smooth and creamy. After a moment, James switched bowls, grabbing and breaking two eggs from the workstation. He eased out the yolk and threw them out with the shells. Another whisk and a final flourish, before he folded the whites into the chocolate mixture. The batter stirred through delicately, and James removed the whisk for a taste before baking. Mmm. Good work. He turned his attention back to the bowl and spooned the mixture into twelve separate ramekins, laid beside each other on a baking tray. A further flick of the wrist, and the tray was placed into the pre-heated oven, smacking James in the face with a force of heat when he got too close. He wrinkled his nose, then closed the oven door with a bang.</p><p>‘Bon appetite,’ he whispered to himself, already making to lick the bowl clean.</p><p>‘James!’ His boss Pierre waltzed into the kitchen, arms aloft. Pierre owned the restaurant. Well, he owned lots of restaurants. And lots of clubs, and cars. And at least one island. It was rare to see him though. Most of the time, the kitchen staff could only speculate on his whereabouts, which made a stressful night all the more agonising. James didn’t have much time for Pierre, but then he wasn’t generally a fan of the rich. Old money, new money, it was all the same to him. Extravagant clowns flaunting the wealth <em>you</em> had worked for but didn’t enjoy even a fraction of. James frowned at the mention of his name, and at the garish timepiece he had paired with his tweed suit. ‘Good to see you!’ He held out his hand and stumpy fingers for a handshake. James took it, trying to remember to smile at the stocky man. It did seem to bristle against Pierre’s nerves that he had to look up so far to meet James’ eyes.</p><p>‘Pierre. What brings you here?’ He let go of Pierre’s hand perhaps too quickly. There was a moment of tension between them before Pierre gave a smile.</p><p>‘It’s actually about… uh, your position here. Do you think we could go into the back to talk?’</p><p>‘Uh, well, the souflees have just gone in…’ James looked around the kitchen now, resting noncommittally on various surfaces as he spoke. Constantly moving so Pierre couldn’t pin him down.</p><p>‘Perfect! Then we have plenty of time! Come with me!’ James followed. With none of his gusto and double his height, James felt more than awkward around Pierre. He felt more than awkward around a lot of people. It just so happened that this one was more in charge of him than others. He wasn’t going to have to fill out a job satisfaction survey, was he? The existential dread of it all followed them in a dark parade to the back office. The office was small, tucked away near a storage room somewhere diners couldn’t see. Pierre held the door and motioned for James to go through. He hesitated for a moment, realising if he did go through, if he did commit to this, then this was actually happening. And he had to stare at him across a desk for as long as Pierre pleased. It was making him antsy just thinking about all the ‘mm-hmm, yeah’s he would have to do. With a small breath, he stepped over the threshold and waited for Pierre to come in and take his seat. He slid uncomfortably into the chair opposite, waiting for the news.</p><p>‘James,’ Pierre began with a sigh. Uh oh. This wasn’t the jovial tone of outside, ‘as you may know, this restaurant has been doing less and less well over these… turbulent times.’ He looked to James for an agreement, but honestly he didn’t know anything. He suspected it was Pierre would made sure he was kept in the dark about these things too. But he said nothing. Pierre tried again, sighing more deeply this time. ’It has come to light that we may have over-hired in the face of this…pressure. Economically speaking, we’re at breaking point.’ Wait. Was he saying- ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to let you go.’</p><p>James stood up instinctively, with what felt like a thousand bees buzzing in his brain. Pierre jumped back in his seat, only settling again as he watched the man before him break into a nervous turn about the office.</p><p>‘You can’t fire me, Pierre. I’ve just got a flat here. I’ve got to pay the bills.’ His ceaseless pacing didn’t help quieten the din in his head. Was this really happening? Was goddamn Pierre strutting in here to tell him to leave? Was this it? Could he appeal it? When he stayed himself, still standing beside the chair, Pierre simply shrugged at him. ‘What about redundancy?’</p><p>‘Oh yes, of course. You will receive a redundancy packet that will cover three month’s wages.’</p><p>‘Three? Only three?’</p><p>‘That should be more than enough to get you back on your feet with work elsewhere. I can give you an excellent reference.’ James was angry now. Why was this man acting like this was a good thing; a blessing in disguise? It wasn’t. It was him losing his job. Not for lack of skill, not for lack of commitment or for any rule-breaking. Just for cost-cutting. There was a low rage rumbling, building the more he thought about it. Imagine the gall of him, never showing up, just swanning around London high society, while the rest of them work themselves to the bone. In his name. And he’s only finally present to kick James out and send him on his way. Then he’d leave again. And he wouldn’t be back again until he needed more money for a third Jaguar. He was seething now. Close to boiling and ready to spill over like an overfilled kettle.</p><p>‘Fuck this restaurant! Fuck everyone who works here, especially fucking Lucas, with his wanky side dishes! Fuck this kitchen! Fuck the people who eat here! And, most importantly, fuck you Pierre! Fuck you!’ James ran out of the door, slamming it and not even thinking of what he was leaving inside. The bridge was burning, flames licking at his heels. He couldn’t turn back if he wanted to. So out he went, into his new world, thinking on what kind of extraordinary ice cream three month’s pay could buy him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘You’ve gotta say that that’s illegal.’ Nish brought two pints and a packet of nuts to the table, sitting down as James took his first drink.</p><p>‘Probably, but what can I do?’ James had found himself with Nish in the pub almost as soon as he’d left. He really hoped someone had taken the souflees out of the oven. Nish cracked open the nuts on the table, ripping the bag so they could both pick at them.</p><p>‘Citizens Advice, mate. You could have a tribunal.’ James batted the idea away, groaning.</p><p>‘Nah, he’s already made up his mind. Plus, he’s got enough lawyers to fuck me. He’s probably got incriminating footage somewhere.’</p><p>‘What have you been doing at work?’ Nish asked, amused and slightly disbelieving. James wasn’t going to answer. ‘Have you found anyone needing a pastry chef?’</p><p>‘Nish, I left the place about five minutes ago.’ He didn’t seem to be paying attention, as he tapped through his phone. James sighed, certain that he would not like the outcome of whatever was happening. He absentmindedly picked at a nut. Suddenly, Nish’s phone was thrust into his face. ‘What is this?’</p><p>’Six month vacancy at the Royal Palace!’ James squinted, readjusting to the screen to unenthusiastically read whatever Nish seemed to excited about. As he’d been told, it was about a temporary position working as a pastry chef for the royal family.</p><p>‘Thought you hated the royals?’</p><p>‘I do, but it’s gotta be good for the CV, right? If you can say you worked at a Pierre Palazzo AND for Queen Liz, there’s not a fancy restaurant in London who won’t snap you up.’ James was still reading the screen, unsure whether or not to deflate Nish’s hope.</p><p>‘It’s not Queen Liz. It’s not even our royals at all.’ Nish snatched his phone back.</p><p>‘Huh?’ He scanned the screen and noticed the words ‘The Kingdom of Cordania’. 'Cordania, where’s that?’</p><p>'Sounds Balkan.’ James was basically uninterested at this point. Yeah, of course it would be fun to work in a royal kitchen. But he wasn’t about to give up the flat he’d waited ages for, up sticks and move to continental Europe. It was a nice idea, but an idea was all it was. Nish didn’t seem to be giving up though.</p><p>‘I’ve got it here. Slightly West of Russia. British colony, technically never gained full independence because they installed a monarchy - this monarchy.’ He looked up from his phone, shaking his head. 'Typical white people shit.’ James nodded his head, conceding the fact. ‘Says here they’re taking applicants from the UK. It’s not EU, not that that matters anymore anyway. They say the visa process will be handled by the palace if you pass the online exam.’ James finished his pint. Nish had barely touched his.</p><p>‘Exam? That’s ominous.’</p><p>‘If I get the rounds in all night, will you apply?’ James looked shocked. He supposed, in a way, it was only fair that Nish do the majority of the buying right now. But all the rounds? Every one? And just to apply. He could just do the… exams, and then that’d be it. He probably wouldn’t be picked. He imagined such a position would be filled quickly. So really, where was the harm?</p><p>‘You’re on, Kumar!’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Prince Edward sat astride his father on the throne that day, he knew everything had changed. Another ceremonial occasion. The first since the death of the Queen. His father, the King, looked sorrowfully to him - sat in her seat, commanding the lead. Being the ruler that the kingdom needed. Iron-willed and grounded. Mournful, yes, but ultimately under control. A staying force in the tempestuous storm.</p><p>Edward had grown up basked in the harsh light of cameras. Even the stoic citizens of Cordania had fallen under the spell of celebrity, and the young prince was their prime example. He was universally loved, made a symbol of something bigger than himself. Bigger than the monarchy entirely. He was the kingdom’s personification of hope, of overcoming adversity, and of love. Quite the responsibility to put on a kid.</p><p>But for what he had to be for the public, he was not always so elsewhere. He was optimistic, sure, but he was also questioning. Academic and logical, interested in why things were the way they were and how we could change them when we needed to. Not lovelorn, but interested in love. Interested in what it might mean, and what it might feel like. He had duties, and he performed them as he was expected to, but he didn’t believe that was it for him. He believed there was so much more. And he was ready to try anything. As he sat in his regal garb, head heavy with a golden crown, he thought about the day ahead. He thought about all that would happen after.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘Dear Mr Acaster,</p><p>Your application has been reviewed and I am pleased to tell you that you have been accepted on a sixth month contract to work at the Royal Palace of Cordania. Attached, you should find your plane tickets (departing Heathrow on November 8th 2020 at 15:00) and a copy of your work permit, should any officials ask for further identification.</p><p>Please be aware that we will be providing you with accommodation and food for the duration of your contract. Also attached is a copy of said contract, which you will need to read through, print off, sign and bring with you to your Orientation Day at the Palace.</p><p>Congratulations on your selection, and we look forward to welcoming you to the Kingdom of Cordania in the near future.</p><p>Regards,</p><p>Secretary to the Gamble Royal Family.’</p><p> </p><p>Well, there it was. He’d got the job. Plain and simple. Nish peeked over his shoulder.</p><p>‘Oh my God, I can’t believe it!’</p><p>‘Yeah, who would’ve thought? I’m gonna be making souflees for a King!’ He said sarcastically, not really even comprehending the situation entirely. It still didn’t really feel real. Until he could feel Cordanian soil beneath his Converse, he couldn’t be sure it was even a real place.</p><p>‘Say goodbye to catering for old rich dickheads and say hello to catering for old rich colonial dickheads!’</p><p>‘Long live ‘em, I say!’ They laughed heartily, as James folded up his laptop and went to sit on his sofa. This could be one of the last ever times he sat on this sofa. He burrowed deep into it, pulling his legs to his chest. He sighed for a moment, contemplating the end of everything. ‘No more James and Nish curry nights.’</p><p>‘What are you talking about, you wanker? They not got wifi in Cordania?’ James actually wasn’t sure. They had sent that email, but- ‘Besides, you’ll be back in sixth months.’ That was true enough. James had also used his severance pay from Palazzo’s to keep his flat rented out. It would only cover about four months, but he would send money over from his new job to cover the rest. He did work hard to get this place, and he really didn’t think he could cope with house hunting again after he got back. ‘Six months is nothing, we’ll be back down Rishir’s before you know it. And it’ll be summer.’</p><p>‘Perfect poppadom weather.’ James shut his eyes, trying to imagine being back in Summer, after half a year of working at a palace. What would change? What would happen? He had no idea. But just picturing the homecoming was making him miss the place before he’d even left.</p><p>‘Do you think I’m making a mistake, Nish?’ James watched his friend’s expression soften with genuine concern.</p><p>‘Of course not, mate. You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do. And, if what you’ve gotta do is go make cakes for parasites, then that’s all good.’ He laughed. What Nish had said in the pub was right. This was clout he couldn’t buy - with a designer restaurant and a Kingdom behind him, finding a job back here would be a breeze. And it’d probably be well paid enough for him to stop worrying about money once and for all. It was a necessary evil. He might even, God forbid, enjoy himself. ‘Honestly, James, I think it’s a great opportunity. I’m glad I forced you to do it. Just promise me you’ll try and have at least one tiny revolution.’</p><p>‘Of course! We must never rest on our revolutionary laurels!’ They both laughed, before going quiet, sat apart but feeling further distanced. ‘I’m gonna miss you.’</p><p>‘I’m gonna miss you too.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Thanks for the kudos, I hope y'all are all feeling Christmassy!<br/>They will be meeting soon, but for now this is just some groundwork. <br/>Also, I don't know if any of you have seen BBC Ghosts, but I imagine the Chief of Staff as the wedding planner from series 2. That's all! Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prince Edward glanced to his father, also clad in royal attire. Today was the Marking of the Winter ceremony. In Cordanian folklore, a mysterious stranger visited the town hundreds of years ago, bringing with him the gift of Winter. Up until then, Cordania had been nothing more than a dessert. With the advent of Winter came the creation of communities, of goodwill and love towards each other. Edward wasn’t sure he believed in those stories, but he knew he wanted to. That one man could step in and change everything. Winter was special to Cordanians. Sure, they celebrated Christmas, but the season itself was just as important. It meant being together. It meant helping one another - protecting harvests, sharing resources, welcoming in newcomers. The festival today was supposed to commemorate the mystery man’s appearance in the country. There would be a procession into the palace, Edward and his father would satisfy some traditional rituals, and then there would be parties in the villages outside. Food, fireworks; dancing and singing. It really was a joyous occasion.</p><p>To align with the festival, it had also become custom for Edward to greet the palace employees, and formally welcome the new ones. The staff did have a huge party in the palace, but completely out of sight of the royals. As long as they could keep their antics out of the papers and were fine to serve again the next morning, the King had no problem with the palace staff having their own get-together. It was the Marking of the Winter, after all. Unfortunately for Edward, he would have no such release after his role ended. Instead, he would have to trudge up to the dinner table and eat in near-silence, the empty chair at the foot of the table, looming large before him, his father and his sister. He had asked last year if he could go join the revellers downstairs, but his father had given him a sharp no. His mother would have allowed it, but knew to toe the party line if her husband had already taken a stand. She was the Queen, yes, but it was a shared throne and she knew the dangers of too much leniency. She was fair though, Ed’s mother. A just and competent sovereign. It was heartbreaking to think of her a year ago, sitting regally where he was sat now, doing with ease what he found so baffling. He would think for endless hours about his position, about his destiny. Was this truly where he was meant to be? Did he believe all the stuff about blood and divine right? Was he simply just an imposter?</p><p>He pushed the thought away as the first trumpets heralded the arrival of the procession to the palace. The doors almost blew open with the rush of the parade. Quickly, the filed into order; children first, carrying lit candles, then teenage celebrants in ceremonial gowns, lined with fur. Finally, a specially-chosen couple would bring a loaf of bread to place on a sacred altar at the front, and a special knife to cut it with, just below where the monarchs sat. Edward would then have to say his blessings to the couple, slice the bread and declare the ceremony begun. It was usually the King or Queen’s job to open the celebrations and help with the couple’s ritual, but Edward’s father had refused. He was not jolly and hopeful, as his wife had been. He was frankly tired by the spectacle. So now it was Ed’s job. He was nervous, but there was something in the air willing him to go on, to go and do what would make his mother proud. He stepped down from his throne and approached the altar.</p><p>The couple’s eyes lit up when they saw Edward. They both dropped into a curtsy. He smiled.</p><p>‘No need for such formalities! Today is a celebration, is it not?’ The couple tittered, not sure whether to look him directly in the eye. Ed chuckled to himself. ‘Speaking of which, I hereby bless this union.’ He touched each woman’s shoulders, symbolically transferring his blessing. ‘May you never part,’ he said with a wink.</p><p>‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ was all they could manage, as they scrambled to place the bread on the altar.</p><p>‘Please, call me Ed.’ They were classically starstruck. Edward got this a lot. It was easy for people to deal with if you were their King and they were your subjects - a lot harder to deal with if you start being normal. A woman in the couple presented Ed with the ceremonial knife.</p><p>‘For you, Ed,’ she hazarded, and broke into a grin when he took it from her happily.</p><p>‘To you ladies, and to love. And to Winter!’ He set about slicing the bread, doing it deftly and quickly. Once it was over, the couple stepped back and Ed began gathering slices of bread into both hands. He climbed back up to his throne, now addressing the crowd.</p><p>‘Ladies, gentlemen, everybody - the Marking of the Winter has now begun!’ He threw the bread he held in his hands to the gathered masses and was warmed to see everyone tearing and sharing their slices. It truly was the spirit of the holiday. He beamed, as an overhead voice told the crowd to make their way out and enjoy the festivities. He took a seat back in his throne, brimming with pride. The throng streamed through the doors, thrown open to crisp air and bright sunshine. Cheers and laughter could be heard all around. I did it, Mum. I did it.</p><p>But when he looked back at his father, his face was sunken and sallow. He seemed disappointed.</p><p>‘Father, is there something-’</p><p>‘We shall discuss it later.’</p><p>Oh Great.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The flight was a misery. Two kids kicking the back of his seat behind him, one guy fully reclining his seat in front of him, and a man who was dead-set against the armrest that separated them. The flight should’ve been about three hours, if it wasn’t for the change in the middle. He’d have to set off from Heathrow, get to Charles de Gaulle and THEN get another flight to Cordania. The end result was an hour and a half first flight, a tedious four hour layover spent rearranging the sandwich display in Pret (officially French, as it turns out) and then a four and a half hour flight in a tiny cramped aircraft with kickers, recliners and weirdos. He’d travelled through the night, and he had had no sleep at any point in his arduous journey. Suffice to say, James was not the picture of calm and grace when he stepped off the plane at his destination.</p><p>It was cold. Colder than he had anticipated. He pulled his chunky knit jumper closer round himself, doing his best to will the shivers away. No such luck. He simply sighed, watching his breath dance in the air and escape him, feeling the bags beneath his eyes well up with lethargy. As he was crammed into the terminal bus, he could’ve stopped to take in the scenery. The fairytale-like backdrop of rolling hills, and pretty, painted houses. The blooming reds and greens of fields and fields of flowers and trees. The paths of cobbles carved into hillsides, winding up to neat wooden farmhouses and fields spreading for miles. But he didn’t bother. He just wanted to sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘Why on Earth did you go for the dramatics, boy?’ Edward had barely sat down at the dinner table before his father pounced.</p><p>‘I don’t know what you mean.’ He most definitely did, but he needed more time to think of an excuse, or something to help his cause. He pondered for a second, but all that came to mind were the rosy cheeks of the revellers, and the sounds of joy flooding out onto the street. In Ed’s mind, it had been a very successful ceremony.</p><p>‘Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about.’</p><p>‘I reckon it was the bread that did it,’ chimed his sister, Princess Katherine.</p><p>‘And what, dear sister, would you know about hosting ceremonial events?’ Edward teased. She simply rolled her eyes and returned her attention back to her cutlery.</p><p>‘Your sister is right, Edward! You can’t go around changing the ceremony. It makes a mockery of the tradition!’ Edward narrowed his eyes. He was ready for the argument. If it had to happen, he was ready.</p><p>‘I thought you hated the tradition.’</p><p>‘I don’t like theatrics!’ Ed laid his linen napkin down on his knees, toying slowly with the gold thread embroidery, to try and steady his emotion.</p><p>‘It’s all theatrics, Father.’ This seemed to enflame the King further.</p><p>‘Exactly! Which is why it did not need your little flourish. For better or for worse, tradition is how we live our lives, and if we start chopping and changing, our roles seem insignificant. It’s like we’re here for nothing!’</p><p>With that, the table went silent. Ed couldn’t look at either of them, as the staff brought out plate after plate. With a small smile and word of thanks to the servants, Ed dutifully picked up his cutlery and ate, fixating more and more on the empty chair. If she were here… she’d know what to say. She’d be able to paper over the cracks.</p><p>But she wasn’t. And so Edward, Katherine and the King had to suffer another day, unable to connect, unable to mend things, unable to speak.</p><p>When the last course was finished, Ed meekly thanked his family, and went to meet the new staff.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘Now, I trust you have all the paperwork with you?’ James was being hurried about by a busybody of a man who had been introduced to him as the Gamble family’s Chief of Staff. He was a tall man, svelt and probably quite streamlined, James had noted. He was wearing the most striking pinstripe suit; deep violet with a lavender shirt underneath. Very classy indeed. He followed the entire thing down to the bottom of the trouser legs and… ooh! Nice shoes. Purple leather. Buckled. Where did he get those? At that moment, he realised the man was looking expectantly at him.</p><p>‘Oh…erm, yeah. It’s in my bag.’ The man looked somewhat worried, but gestured for James to pass on the paperwork. He took off his backpack and eased out the contract, handing it to the man. He seemed practically ready to break his arm to reach it sooner. James found himself wondering if a healthy dose of neurosis was handy for life working in a Royal Palace.</p><p>‘Very good,’ he said to himself, leafing quickly through. Suddenly, his eyes snapped up, ‘Now, will you be ready to work tonight?’</p><p>‘I-‘ James now hadn’t slept for nearly a full twenty-four hours. But, from the tone of the question, he assumed that it wasn’t a question at all. Besides, it’s not like he could demand a night off or a personal tour before he’d even begun. He took a breath, rubbing his eyes, ‘of course, yeah.’</p><p>‘Excellent!’ The man said, slapping him on the back a little too hard. ‘I’ll have someone take your bags to your room, and then I’ll take you through to the kitchen.’ James wanted to ask where his room was. He knew that was something that would definitely come up later, when it was 3am and he was still wandering around the East Wing, trying to find his pyjamas, yet to fall asleep.</p><p>But he simply nodded, and watched with unease as the man barked at an underling to collect his bags. He offered an apologetic shrug to the person who buckled under the weight of his suitcase, but received nothing in return. In that moment, as he watched the purple shoes he was supposed to be following disappear around a corner, he wondered if this had all been a terrible mistake.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>‘And, as for the kitchen, we have a new pastry chef - come from the UK to work here on a temporary basis. But we’ve promised him a full-time contract if he impresses.’ Ed tended to zone out at these briefings his Chief of Staff gave him. He would meet the people there and talk to the them when he got there. There’s no way he’d remember any of the salient points anyway. So long as someone was willing to talk, they would find Ed’s conversation very fine indeed. Instead, he focused on his aubergine pinstripe suit, wondering just where he got those buckled purple shoes to perfectly match.</p><p>‘But aside from that,’ he stopped in his tracks, turning round and making Ed stall in place, ‘everything’s pretty much the same.’ Edward thanked him as he led him to the room where all the staff were lined up, eagerly waiting for this to be over so they could get on with partying.</p><p>He shook a few hands with the Heads of Department, and then took to the floor to make a speech.</p><p>‘Thank you so much for your service today everybody, it means a great deal.’ The crowd cheered. ‘Not just today, but through the years, you have been true stalwarts for me and my family.’ There was more jubilation, slightly muted as the speech threatened to take a sombre turn. Edward went for it. ‘I’m sure you all knew my mother very well. She lived here for many, many years. The happiest years of her life.’ He gestured to the crowd, who held their breath to hear him speak of the Queen. ‘She was such a fan of yours - all of yours. She always admired the wonderful work you did, and continue to do. Sometimes, I think she wished Kath and I could be half as excellent as any one of you guys!’ There was some laughter and some nodding.</p><p>‘But it has been tough this year without her here. Especially as Winter draws in, I know I’m really feeling the loss of her presence. I know my heart is breaking that she won’t be there for Christmas this year. And I hope it’s not presumptuous to say that we all miss her. A lot. Everyday.’ More nods, a few tears. ‘But if we can take the spirit of her, and everything she stood for - kindness, happiness, a healthy dose of cheekiness,’ Some woos, ‘into this next year, we can have a wonderful Winter, knowing she is smiling down on us all.’ Edward took a deep breath, tears welling,</p><p>‘Thank you everyone.’ He looked around at the gathered faces, smiling through tears and clapping furiously. He felt a grin break out on his own face. ‘Now, let’s party!’</p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Basically, just wanna apologise for the hap-hazard updating of this. I have barely written a thing in the past few days, but I've been listening to inspiring gay music so I'm back at it again. I'm hoping to add a few more chapters in the coming days! But yeah, thanks for bearing with and thanks for the kudos :-)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Ah, Ben! How are you?’ Edward stuck out his hand, and Ben keenly took it, shaking far too vigorously. <br/>‘Excellent, Your Majesty! The kitchen is coming along leaps and bounds!’ Ed tried to remove his hand, to no avail. He was trapped in Ben’s vice-like grip.<br/>‘Ah, please, Ben! Call me Ed! We’re going to be getting far too smashed tonight to remember our formalities anyway,’ he chuckled. Ben seemed taken aback, but didn’t let his face give too much away. Ed was, more than ever, determined to coax a smile from him. He took a bottle of champagne from a nearby table. ‘To the Queen?’ Ben smiled. Gotcha.<br/>‘To the Queen.’ Ed made light work of the cork and took a quick swig from the bottle. He passed it along and watched as Ben’s face screwed up with the fizziness.<br/>‘She will have loved that, I assure you.’ They both laughed. Edward just felt… relieved. He knew he had to break down the wall between him and everyone he met. And he knew he had to do it every time they met as well. It was tiring, just getting people to see him as an equal. Not as the heir or the prince, just as Ed. He took a deep breath, facing the room. Here were a hundred more people. He would probably get round to speaking to twenty. He wouldn’t ever learn everybody’s names, and he would never be given the chance to. And, of everyone he spoke to, he would have to go through the same rigmarole of ‘call me Ed’. Then came their trepidation, and how he had to pretend it didn’t matter to him that they couldn’t immediately just be his friend.</p><p>Still lost in his thoughts, he felt the collision before he saw who he collided with.<br/>‘Watch yourself!’ The stranger said, more out of instinct than actual anger. He seemed sheepish as soon as he had said it.<br/>‘Sorry, I shall in future.’ The prince was enthralled by the interaction, at the prospect of the man who might not care for his title. In the back of his mind, though, he fully expected the stranger to look up, see he was Prince Edward Gamble and start to backtrack. But he didn’t.<br/>‘Good.’ He looked Ed up and down, ‘So you’re the Prince then?’ Ed couldn’t stop staring at this man. He must’ve been new. For one, he’d never seen him before, and he would definitely have remembered that meeting. For another, he wasn’t in uniform. That must mean that he had just arrived that day, in his own clothes. And what odd clothes they were. Bottle green corduroy trousers and a red plaid shirt, that was both too tight and too long at the same time. His face, though, there was something beguiling about it. Handsome, soft, adorned with a mess of scruffy ginger hair. Quite fashionably cut, Ed noted. There was something refreshing about a man, not dressed for the occasion, unaware of his surroundings and presumably hating it. But Ed was determined to change his mind.<br/>‘How did you guess?’ Ed joked, gesturing to his tasseled epaulettes. It didn’t seem to impress the man, or indeed change his expression at all.<br/>‘What’s all this Winter stuff about?’ He asked, not even bothering to look at him as he spoke.<br/>’The Marking of the Winter is a Cordanian tradition. It begins the 43 days of celebration, in the lead up to Christmas.’ Ah-ha. Now, he had his attention; eyes wide as Ed reeled off the normal spiel. <br/>‘Why forty-three?’ Ed quirked his head at the stranger, intrigued by everything he had done so far. He seemed so lost, but also assured - angry but inspired, he was a contradiction that Ed wanted to spend some time unravelling.<br/>‘First, I wanna ask you a question.’ The man raised an eyebrow, but seemed intrigued nonetheless.<br/>‘Hmm?’<br/>‘What’s your name?’ The man smirked, and Ed felt his heart rate accelerate, if only for a second. God, he wasn’t blushing, was he? The man extended his hand.<br/>‘I’m James.’ Ed took it, shaking a little too firmly.<br/>‘Ed.’<br/>‘Well, Ed. Wanna dance?’</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Sorry for the wait, I've been finishing off essays and whatnot! But I'm free now and also very hype for Christmas! I hope the next few chapters will be up soon, but in case they're not please feel free to enjoy these as long as humanly possible! Thanks :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James hadn’t expected the royals to be down here, mingling with the staff. Someone had warned him that the prince or princess might be making an appearance, but he was assured they wouldn’t stay for long. Yet, here was the prince, making his way to the dance floor with him.</p><p>The room itself was a function room. Large enough without tables and chairs to block up the space. Everything had been cleared and now there was only the dance floor, a DJ booth and a long table down the middle of the room that boasted all sorts of snacks and drinks. James thought about how it would be decorated for royal events, and that’s when he looked to his companion.</p><p>The Prince, or Ed - as he’d gleaned was his name, was strikingly attractive. James couldn’t stop his eyes straying to his jawline, or worse, his lips. His eyes were nice too, and he could probably get away with looking into them. So long as he wasn’t too obvious.</p><p>For some reason, James wasn’t starstruck. He thought he might be, since Ed was royalty, but honestly it didn’t feel much different from meeting any other handsome stranger. Save the epaulettes.</p><p>He wasn’t feeling particularly negative towards the prince either. He thought a certain resentment would permeate - the privilege and the stupid posh antics that he thought he couldn’t forgive… it didn’t seem to bother him so much. Of course, he wouldn’t let him off easily. And his icy first impression seemed to let Ed know that. He wasn’t going to lose himself in hatred or hero worship. He was just going to give him a trial.</p><p>He watched Ed as he surveyed the room, seeming to genuinely enjoy seeing the staff. He stole glances at his uniform. Ironed, fitted, adorned with some sash or other. He didn’t know what the pins meant, but he assumed it was all just flashy. He probably didn’t earn them.</p><p>James, relax. Let the night lead you to your conclusions. Don’t jump the gun.</p><p>His polished shoes seemed to glide over to the dance floor. The DJ was just ahead of them, playing music James didn’t recognise. Ed must’ve noticed the look of confusion on his face.</p><p>‘Don’t have Cordanian music in the UK?’ James laughed, as he watched Ed try and get into some sort of rhythm with the song. He joined him, also looking just a bit wrong.</p><p>‘Not this. I might have heard of some other stuff.’ Ed seemed taken aback.</p><p>‘Oh. I didn’t know our music saw such circulation.’</p><p>‘It doesn’t, but I listen to a lot of different stuff.’ The random gyrating was finally hitting something akin to dance moves. The song was an indie-sounding guitar rock track - jangling notes and wailing lyrics.</p><p>‘Oooh, who’s your favourite band?’ Ed didn’t know if he expected an aloof answer, or a very enthusiastic one. He liked to think he was getting a hold on James, and what he might say. But, in truth, he had no idea.</p><p>James just paused for a second, weighing the options in his head. God, there were so many. He couldn’t launch into an over-excitable rant. Not so early on. That’d come later. Instead, he opted for the safe answer.</p><p>‘There’s too many.’ His dancing resumed, only for Ed’s to stop.</p><p>‘What a cop out!’ James had a split second to make up his mind. Did he find this man annoying or alluring? He seemed to be walking the line quite expertly at the minute, not falling to either side lest James put him in any box. He agreed his answer was a cop out, but he wasn’t so sure he liked Ed knowing so soon. The entire time, he didn’t stop dancing, his off-kilter movements coaxing other people out onto the dance floor.</p><p>‘Who’s your favourite band then?’ James asked, only for Ed to laugh dismissively.</p><p>‘Oh, I don’t have time for all that.’ He started to dance again, the grin never once falling from his face.</p><p>‘Pfft, yeah right!’ James scoffed. ‘I’ll find out by the end of the night.’ Ed cocked his head to the side, taking in James, bathed in the blues and greens of the cheap disco lights. If this was a challenge, he was more than happy to partake. There was something about him. He wasn’t sure yet just what it was.</p><p>‘You’re on.’</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The clock tower in the courtyard struck twelve times. Discarded leaves danced a frenzied flurry over the cobblestones, below the bare branches trees; like spindly fingers on sinewy hands, grasping in the dark air above. The only sound was the wind. Until two pairs of shoes bounded into the middle of it all.</p><p>‘Midnight,’ James noted, seemingly in awe at the size of the grounds he had just run. Ed watched his childlike glee with a smile.</p><p>‘Incredible observation.’ Ed’s sarcasm wasn’t enough to break James from his trance as he made his way over to some stone steps, carved out just below the clock tower. As he sat, he felt the wind cease to lap at his reddening face. As crazy as it sounded, in amongst everything that had happened to him in the past few weeks, he had suddenly found a place of peace.</p><p>Ed couldn’t have known what James was thinking. After all, this was normal for him. The courtyard, and the stone structures, and the hundreds of staff. The parties were newer, but not new enough that it was shocking. This was Ed’s life - somewhere between Divine duty and celebrity glamour. He sat beside James, his eyes still wild with wonder. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’</p><p>‘I was just thinking it’s quite warm here.’ James answered, half-truthfully. Ed laughed, louder than before. James thought it sounded more genuine. He wanted to laugh too, but he wasn’t sure he was in on the joke.</p><p>‘You’re interesting, you know that?’ Ed had just made the remark in passing, but it seemed to captivate James. Confuse him maybe. James looked away from him, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his shirt. ‘Do you do that a lot?’</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>‘Fidget.’ Ed, by comparison, wasn’t shrinking himself at all. Even though he felt like maybe he should. Maybe he shouldn’t be this kingly presence, especially around James. James who didn’t care for him title. James who made him feel normal for once. Christ, what was he even talking about? He’d met the man tonight, and he didn’t know anything about him. He felt James shrug off the question before he’d seen it. Ed knew there was something else on his mind, something taking up too much space to hazard ‘what got you into desserts in the first place?’ or ‘what do you think of Cordania so far?’.</p><p>‘I think I’m just overwhelmed,’ he said at last. ‘I just- I just… I was at my old job this time last week. Staring at the clock, waiting for midnight to hit so I could go home. Back to my flat. See my friends at the weekend. Few pints. Repeat.’ Ed can see something in his eyes now. Not a glow, so much, more of a glazed look. Unwitting reminiscence. ‘Then, all of a sudden I’m shipped out - literally. Now I’m here and…’ he trailed off. Ed didn’t know what to say. He found no comfort in ever giving or receiving empty reassurance. He didn’t want to convince him that things would get better. He just wanted him to know that he could come find him if he ever needed. But Ed couldn’t say that aloud. He could only turn to look at him, with eyes full of sympathy, and nod. He didn’t expect a follow-up.</p><p>James surprised him. ‘I’m not used to people noticing things about me. I can feel it when you look at me, it’s like you’re working me out. And I think you get it, that’s the scary bit.’ Ed didn’t want to scare him off. Quite the opposite, he wanted to stay with him in the strange warmth of this alcove all night. He wanted to learn what he’d got right, and what he hadn’t. He wanted him to pour his heart out, so he could find a companion in all of this. For once.</p><p>‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-‘</p><p>‘No, it’s- I just-‘ Ed could see the panic in his face, moving his body in frantic ways that told him he was about to get up and leave. He got to his feet, suddenly unsteady and regretful.</p><p>‘You don’t have to go. I’m sorry.’ Ed wasn’t sure what he was apologising for, but it felt as though it came from a place of desperation.</p><p>‘I can’t- I shouldn’t-‘ And without another sound, James slipped out into the courtyard, under the black cover of night. As Ed sighed, he found himself wondering who truly was his favourite band.</p>
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